


Rose Granger-Weasley and the Unexpected Year

by helena_demorest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10031900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_demorest/pseuds/helena_demorest
Summary: Rose Granger-Weasley has grown up in a family full to bursting with talented, famous witches and wizards, so the thinks she knows exactly what to expect from her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She has never been more wrong.





	1. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

**Chapter One**

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

 

Rose was the first one awake on the morning of September the first, and the sun had just begun to stream weakly in through the misted window panes as she opened her eyes. On any other morning, she might have gotten up right away, crept down the three long staircases to the basement kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and talked with Kreacher as he made her porridge for breakfast, as she usually did. But this wasn't just an ordinary morning. _This_ was the morning of September the first - the morning that she’d been waiting for for absolute ages, and it was finally here.

 She turned over onto her side and saw Hugo sleeping in the twin bed across from hers, his round cheeks patterned by the light through the lace of the curtains. On the other side of the room were Albus and Lily, just lumpy forms under mounds of blankets, their beds still deep in shadow. Rose listened to hear whether anyone else might be awake in the house, but all was silent, as usual, and in the early morning stillness she could hear her own heartbeat growing faster as her mind awakened to the possibilities of the day.

She knew exactly what to expect, of course. She’d grown up on stories of her parents’ days at Hogwarts with Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, and she could picture the gleaming red Hogwarts Express, the little fleet of boats, and the looming silhouette of the castle above the Black Lake, even though she’d never seen them. Her mind brimmed with questions as she lay cozy under her down blanket with the cool autumn air seeping in through the single-paned window. Would she get to ride in Hagrid’s boat? Who would she sit next to at the Gryffindor table? Which one would be her bed in the dormitory tower? What would the house elves serve at the welcoming feast? Would there be her favorite apricot tart for dessert? What song would the sorting hat sing? Who would her new friends be? Would she have as many friends as her dad had had? Would she be as good a student as her mum had been?

She remembered her mum’s story of getting her own letter - of the surprise of finding out, at eleven years old, that she was a witch, and that the rest of her life would be nothing like what she’d grown up imagining. Her mum always smiled when she told the part about Rose’s grandfather fainting dead away in the middle of the living room and her grandmother staring back and forth from one to the other and not knowing which one to be more worried about.

Rose wondered whether there were any muggle-borns who had received letters this year, and tried to imagine what it must be like for those children to be waking up this morning, not knowing what to expect and with no one to answer their questions, and she felt grateful to have grown up in the magical world. She had never liked surprises.

She lay in bed for another quarter of an hour, listening to the low hooting of her owl on his perch, planning the day ahead of her, and imagining just how everything should be, until Albus snorted awake and stretched, sending his blankets cascading to the uneven wooden floor. She saw him rub the sleep out of his eyes and reach over to the bedside table for his glasses.

“Rose?” he whispered across the room, “You awake?”

She sat up and patted the foot of her bed. Her cousin padded quietly across the well-worn floorboards, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the creaking hadn’t woken Lily or Hugo. They sat across from each other, cross-legged on the bed, silhouettes outlined against the brightening window. Albus drew back the curtains and looked down into the little square below where the first few yellow leaves were swirling across the cobblestones as the morning fog began to clear. Rose untied the maroon scarf she always wrapped her curls in while she slept and folded it beside her brand new wand, still in its sleek black box, on the nightstand.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” Albus murmured, still looking out the window.

“Doesn’t it to you?” she answered, surprise in her voice, “I think it feels realer than anything ever.”

He looked up into her face and some of her barely contained excitement seemed to be syphoned into him as his green eyes met her dark ones. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grin, and he said, “come on, let’s get breakfast.”

 

*

 

Half an hour later, the deserted kitchen had become a scene of chaos as first Lily and Hugo, then James, Roxanne, and Freddy, and finally all of their parents had joined Albus and Rose in the kitchen to fill up on Kreacher’s cooking, get ready for the day, and, in Roxanne’s and James’s case, vent their pent-up excitement by tossing a half-crate of Weasleys' Wildfire Wizbangs into the air.

The fireworks zoomed around the room, whizzing and banging and shooting red and gold sparks into the already smoky air of the kitchen. Kreacher clapped his hands over his ears and ducked into his den under the water heater to avoid the exploding rockets. Freddy joined the majority of the adults in looking tired and cross, and Lily and Hugo, who had been peppering Rose and Albus with questions since coming downstairs, jumped up to join the fray, clapping and laughing and swiping at the bright lights darting around above them. Rose and Albus stayed by the fireplace, following along without joining in, their usual boisterousness tempered by the heavy feeling in each of their stomachs that had nothing to do with the porridge they’d just eaten.

“James! I’ve told you before - ” Uncle Harry started in a warning tone, but it was Rose’s mum who restored order with a flick of her wand that made all the fireworks fall to the floor and fizzle into silence.

“Aw, Hermione,” her dad’s voice carried above the indignant noises James and Roxanne were making, “Come on, they were just having a laugh.”

“It’s your own fault, Ronald,” Uncle George admonished, “for teaching her our top secret extinguishing spell.”

Hermione laughed and said something about how Ron had never been able to do it properly until she had taught _him_ , but by then Roxanne and James were climbing over the tables and sliding under benches to round up the lifeless fireworks in the hopes that they could get them to work again once they were back at school and allowed to do spells. Lily and Hugo joined in the hunt for firework carcasses, and Rose glanced over at Albus.

“You ready?” She asked 

He breathed deeply and hoisted an unconvincing look of confidence onto his round face. “Yep.”

“Me neither,” she said, and they both laughed nervously.

 

*

 

It took more than an hour before all thirteen of them were ready to leave the house. Lily and Hugo were tasked with helping Kreacher to clean the kitchen - more to keep them out of their older siblings’ way than because Kreacher needed the assistance - while the others went to pack their things. Rose and Roxanne were dragged into the grand master bathroom, still incongruously tiled in Slytherin silver and green, for some last-minute hair maintenance. Hermione wound Rose’s dark amber curls around her wand to set them in place while Angelina worked a liberal dose of conditioner into Roxanne’s long, chestnut twists.

“Now Roxanne,” Hermione said, casting a sideways glance at her niece as she curled her daughter’s hair, “Promise me you’ll make sure Rose takes care of these curls while she’s away at Hogwarts?”

“Of course, Auntie 'Mione,” Roxanne answered sweetly.

“ _Muuummm_ ,” Rose complained, embarrassed by the suggestion that she couldn't take care of herself, but her Aunt Angelina interjected.

“Rose, your mum’s right. You should have seen _her_ hair when she first came to Hogwarts. Bushiest mess I’ve ever seen - ”

“Well if _someone_ had _helped_ me instead of just making fun,” Hermione said, raising her eyebrow archly as she looked at her sister-in-law in the carved mahogany mirror, “I might have avoided all that trouble with the Sleekeazy’s and just gotten a good head wrap.”

“How was I supposed to know you had a white mum who never knew how to do your hair right?”

Rose and Roxanne rolled their eyes at each other as their mothers teased and laughed and tugged and curled. The noise of the others rushing up and down the long wooden staircases intruded, and Rose insisted that her curls were just fine and that it was time for her to go and pack her last few things. They were released from their chairs and rushed upstairs, Roxanne disappearing up yet another staircase after Rose had reached the landing of her own room.

When she came down twenty minutes later, Rose didn’t notice that she was the only one of the five Hogwarts-bound who had changed into her new robes until James called out “Bit eager, are we?” as he ran past on his way to the cars.

Her tawny cheeks went a deep pink, but her father clapped his big hand on her shoulder and said, “She is her mother’s daughter, after all,” and the pride in his voice chased Rose’s embarrassment away.

“We’ll take Albus in our car,” Rose’s dad called out to Uncle Harry as James and Albus began arguing over who had to take the middle seat, as Lily had resolutely refused, saying she was _always_ in the middle. “Hugo always sits up front with us, so he’ll have room in the back with Rosie.”

“Dad,” Hugo said, tugging at his father’s sleeve, “I’m getting too big to sit up front with you and mum.”

“Nonsense,” Hermione replied, pulling him onto the long seat up front along with his toad, “You’ll fit for one more year.” She hugged him close with one arm, leaning her head onto his soft puff of hair.

The stack of luggage the Ministry helpers were now loading into the cars’ enchanted trunks was quite a sight, and it didn’t even include all of their animals, who were perched in cages atop their owners’ laps, filling each of the cars with an assortment of screeches, hoots, ribbits, and purrs. Rose’s owl, Ganymede, was awake and alert, and watching Albus’s ferret, so newly purchased from Diagon Alley that he hadn’t even named her yet, as she scratched around the bottom of her repurposed owl cage looking for the little sweet-smelling treats Albus had brought home along with her.

With the cars sorted, the Ministry helpers gave curt bows to both of their superiors and disapparated from the drive. The children waved goodbye to the imposing stone facade of Number twelve, knowing they wouldn’t see it again until Christmas time, and the laden cars trundled off down the cobbled street into the brightening, misty morning.

“What do you think about Scruffy?” Albus asked, looking down at the ferret as she explored her cage.

“No,” said Hermione and Rose together. Rose went on, “Give her a proper name, like Genevieve, or Matilda, or - ”

“What’s wrong with Scruffy?” Rose’s dad piped in from the front seat, “or maybe Beady...look at those eyes…”

“Ron, please, watch the road,” her mum cautioned, reaching over to grab the steering wheel.

“Relax, Hermione,” he responded casually, and then added to Albus, “You know, you really ought to name her Moody. Has your dad ever told you about Mad-Eye Moody, Al? There was this one time when he - ”

“Changed Draco Malfoy into a ferret for trying to curse my dad while his back was turned? Yeah,” Albus said, “I’ve heard that one.”

Ron went on regardless, reminiscing about how ridiculous Draco had looked, bouncing down the stairs and twitching. Hugo laughed, Hermione looked stern, and Rose looked at Albus, seeing in his face something between annoyance and concern.

“What is it?” She said quietly as her father kept talking.

“Do you ever worry that it won’t be as good as the stories?” Albus muttered, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t say that,” Rose tried to comfort him. “It’s going to be even better. You’ll see.” She rocked sideways to bump into him on purpose as the car careened around a corner into a narrow alley. He smiled weakly up at her, and his queasy look was mirrored by the plunging sensation in her stomach.

Her dad was still raucously reminiscing about his own first year at Hogwarts as they pulled into the parking lot at King’s Cross station. She saw her mum nudge him in the ribs to get him to stop as they climbed out of the car into the muggle world to unload their things. Rose’s owl and Albus’s ferret got more than a few strange looks as they made their way into the gleaming station and looked for the brick barrier that was the entry to Platform 9 ¾.

“Have you done it before?” Rose asked Albus nervously.

“Yep, last year, and the year before, with James.”

Albus had hardly said his brother’s name when James himself came rushing past in a blur of owl feathers and unkempt hair. He disappeared straight through the brick barrier before Rose had even had a chance to focus her eyes on him.

Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny came up behind them, Lily in tow.

“Now you, Al,” Uncle Harry said, “with a little more decorum than your brother managed, please.”

“Go together?” Rose asked. 

Albus nodded, and they took their first strides toward the barrier in tandem, gathering speed as they approached. Rose hardly had time to be nervous before she was on the other side, the whoosh of thick, white steam from the Hogwarts Express making her skin glow warm and giving the light a diffuse, almost unreal quality. The train gleamed scarlet and black and gold and looked just as it had in her daydreams.

Her parents, as well as Albus’s and all the rest of the group materialized behind them one after the next, and they all looked around the platform, watching out for familiar faces. Rose saw her Uncle Percy in the distance, conversing loudly with someone who looked to be another Ministry worker, her cousins Molly and Lucy looking bored and waiting to say goodbye as soon as he’d finished his discourse. Down the other end of the platform was Aunt Fleur kissing Victoire goodbye while Uncle Bill straightened Louis’s tie one-handed while enfolding Dominique in a one-armed hug.

Rose overheard her dad bragging to Uncle Harry about having successfully passed his muggle driving test, and Hugo and Lily arguing about what house they’d be in when it was finally their turn to go to Hogwarts, but she was too busy looking around at all the new faces to pay close attention. There were hundreds of new children here, all of whom might be friends or foes, new first years just like her or experienced older students, fellow Gryffindors or stinking Slytherins. She stood rooted to the spot, suddenly not as excited as she’d felt early that morning.

“If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you,” her father’s voice cut through her distraction, “but no pressure.”

He had been speaking to Hugo, but Rose felt the words were directed as much at her as at her brother. Hugo and Lily laughed, but Rose looked solemn, and she saw that Albus did, too.

“Look who it is,” her father said, looking up. She followed his gaze, as all the others were doing. She looked a long way down the platform to where the steam had momentarily parted, and saw three people looking back at them - a tall, thin man with hair so pale blonde it was nearly white, an even taller woman with dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, and a boy who looked to be about her own age, who looked so similar to the man with his pale hair and pale, pointed face that he had to be his son. The man nodded curtly, and then all three of them turned away.

“So that’s little Scorpius,” her dad said said under his breath, and then turning to her added, “make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank god you inherited your mother’s brains.”

“Ron, for heaven’s sake,” Hermione said, half stern, half amused, “Don’t try to turn them against each other before they’ve even started school. 

“You’re right, sorry,” said her dad, but unable to help himself, he added, “don’t get too friendly with him though, Rosie - Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”

Rose shook his hand off her shoulder, deeply embarrassed by the idea of marrying anyone, pureblood or not, and she was glad for the interruption as James bounded up to the group exclaiming that she had seen Teddy Lupin kissing their cousin Victoire. An argument ensued about whether Teddy shouldn’t just come to live with the Potters already, and Albus and Rose were momentarily forgotten in the din.

“Sit together on the train?” She asked him, trying to keep the note of uncertainty out of her voice.

“Of course,” he said, grinning. She tried to return the smile, but he seemed to be gaining confidence as she was losing it.

Albus went over to his father for a few last-minute goodbyes, and Rose did the same, sinking into her mother’s outstretched arms as Hermione knelt to hug her.

“You’re going to love it there, Rose,” her mum whispered into her cloud of curls, “and ignore your father. Be friends with whomever you want, and just do your best. I wish I’d known when I started first year that it’s okay not to know the answer to _every_ question. We love you no matter what.”

“Thanks, mum,” she murmured, her voice a little shaky. Her throat had tightened at her mother’s words, and she squeezed even harder for a second or two before letting go. She could see the tears forming in her mum’s wide, brown eyes, and she turned away, blinking fast so she wouldn’t start crying too.

“Goodbye, Rosie!” her dad said, stepping in front of her and pulling her into another hug. For a moment it seemed as though he might lift her off her feet and spin her around in the air as he’d always done when she was little, but then he seemed to remember that she was eleven and off to her first year at Hogwarts, not seven and off to her cousins’ house for tea.

“Bye, dad,” she said, trying for a grin as he chucked her affectionately on the cheek.

Hugo, sulking a bit as all their parents’ attention was momentarily turned on Rose, gave her a perfunctory say-goodbye-to-your-big- sister hug and an envious stare, and she was off. All around her, children were climbing up into the train, parents were waving, and last-minute, forgotten items were being handed through compartment windows. In all the commotion, she hadn’t seen which carriage Albus had gotten into, and panicked for a moment before remembering they were all going to the same place and she would be sure to find him eventually.

Her mother handed Ganymede’s cage up to her as she climbed the three stairs into the nearest carriage and turned to wave a final goodbye.

“We’ll write to you!” her mother called.

“Love you!” Rose called back.

The train whistled and lurched and began to lumber forward out of the station. She raised her arm and waved as the door slowly closed, the blurred faces of the crowd getting harder and harder to make out in all the steam. Rose stood in the doorway still, even as her parents and brother and aunts and uncles slid out of sight and were lost in the clouds of billowing steam.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines of dialogue in this chapter are drawn directly from J.K. Rowling's original epilogue to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
> 
> This is the first chapter in a planned book-length story that I'm still working on, and I will be posting new chapters as they are completed. I would love suggestions or constructive criticism!


	2. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Lugging Ganymede’s cage behind her, Rose passed compartment after compartment full of unfamiliar faces. Some were awkwardly shaking hands and getting acquainted while others looked like old friends, overjoyed to be back together again after a long, magic-free summer. Some of the older kids gave her looks that seemed either quizzical or appraising; most just ignored her. 

When Rose reached Albus’s compartment, he was already sitting with two people she didn’t recognize. 

“Rose! There you are,” called Albus, and he slid the door open and helped her get Ganymede settled beside his ferret’s cage on a high shelf above the seat he’d saved for her. 

“This is Rose, my cousin. Rose, this is Bran Finnegan,” Albus said, pointing to a pale, freckled blond boy with a wide, friendly face. Rose waved shyly. “And this is Noa Thomas. She’s a girl. I got it wrong at first. Sorry,” Albus said to Noa, sounding a bit sheepish.

“It’s okay. Most people do,” Noa said, smiling up at Rose. She was small and stout, with skin a few shades deeper brown than Rose’s own, and her tightly curled hair was pulled up into a loose bun atop her head. “Even the doctors. My parents thought I was a boy until I was about seven when they finally believed me that I’d been a girl all along.”

Rose smiled back at Noa. “So, you’re trans, then?” she asked. 

“Rose,” Albus hissed warningly, stepping on her foot beneath their robes. 

“Yep,” Noa answered brightly. “And it’s not a bad word, Al.”

“Albus,” Albus answered reflexively. 

“Oh, sorry,” Noa said, “I thought I heard your dad call you Al—”

“He did. He’s the only one who does. Well, and my brother. But I’d prefer Albus.”

“My dad went to school with your dad,” Bran interjected. “Seamus he’s called—he was in Gryffindor too. Same year and everything.”

“My dad too,” Noa cut in excitedly, “his name’s Dean. My mum too, actually, but she was in Ravenclaw.”

“All our parents were at school together then,” Rose said. “My mom’s Hermione Granger and my dad’s Ron—”

But before she could finish, they were asking Albus about his dad again, pestering him with questions about whether all the stories about his father were really true. 

“Everybody knows he defeated You-Know-Who,” Noa was saying, “but did he really get to ride on a centaur? And beat Viktor Krum in the Triwizard Tournament?" 

"And break out of Gringotts on a dragon?” Added Bran.

Rose tried to interject that her mum and dad had been on the dragon too, but Noa and Bran were talking excitedly over each other, and Albus was grinning with a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. He brought his hand up to rumple his hair in a gesture that made Rose flush with a momentary anger that she didn’t fully understand.

Just then, her attention was caught by movement outside in the corridor, and she looked up just in time to catch the eye of the pale, pointed-faced boy from the platform. Scorpius, her dad had said. Draco Malfoy’s son. He stared at her, hesitating in his stride as though deciding whether or not to stop and say something, and then turned decidedly away and walked on to another compartment. 

“Was that Scorpius Malfoy?” Bran asked.

“I think so,” Rose answered. 

“No question what House _he’ll_ be in,” Albus said, contempt in his voice. 

That brought them around to to topic of Houses, and all four of them related their hopes and expectations of ending up in Gryffindor, just like their parents. Only Noa said “Well, being a Ravenclaw like my mum wouldn’t be so bad, but everyone else in our family has been in Gryffindor—even her twin sister.”

“Oh,” Rose interrupted, “Is your mum Padma Patil? My dad went to the Yule Ball with her in their fourth year.”

“I know,” Noa said, wrinkling her nose, “and my mum always says she’s glad there never were any _other_ dances at school after the way _that_ one turned out.”

The others laughed and started in on discussing the Gryffindor common room, and Rose felt embarrassed. Her dad had always told her it had been fun—that the Weird Sisters had played, and that Uncle Harry had had to dance in front of hundreds of people, and that they’d had all the butterbeer they could drink. Now, though, she wondered what he _hadn’t_ told her…

 

*

 

By the time a thin, greying wizard came around with the lunch trolley, Rose was wishing they were there already. She paid eleven Sickles for a pile of chocolate frogs and a sugar quill and added them to the cheese-and-pickle sandwich and slightly squashed tangerine her mum had dropped into the pocket of her robe that morning. After they’d eaten, conversing animatedly about everything they’d heard about the delicious food they could look forward to in the Hogwarts Great Hall, Bran and Albus amused themselves trying to guess the flavors of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and then retching melodramatically when the brown one they’d thought was coffee turned out to be poo-flavored instead. 

Within a few short minutes, Noa looked just about as bored with this as Rose was, and they each settled into reading. Noa pulled a bunched-up copy of The Quibbler out of one of the pockets of her robe (front page headline: **“SHACKLEBOLT SHOCKER—Is the Minister Hiding an Electrifying Secret?”** ), and Rose climbed up on the seat to reach into her bookbag for her copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , by Miranda Goshawk. 

Like many of her books, it was a hand-me-down from her mother and, while clearly well-used from the way the spine lay flat when opened to certain pages, it remained in excellent condition. She’d been practicing the wand movements for some of the simpler spells ever since she’d gotten her wand the previous week, and wanted to review them to make sure she’d be prepared for her first lessons. Her hand traced the gestures for first one spell and then another in the air, until all her wafting and waving attracted Albus’s attention. 

“Going to show us some magic then, Rose?” he asked almost aggressively, perhaps a bit nettled that she’d been ignoring him. 

“ _Can_ you do magic already?” Bran asked, excited. “My parents were always really strict about keeping me from doing _any_ at home.”

“Mine too,” Rose answered, still moving her empty hand deliberately through the air just above her lap, “but I know the theory, and that ought to be good enough.”

“Let’s see then,” said Roxanne, who had just turned up in the doorway along with her older brother Freddy. 

“Now technically,” Freddy said, his prefect’s badge gleaming on his chest, “first years aren’t supposed to be doing magic on the train.”

“But we can make an exception for _family_ , can’t we, Freddy?” Roxanne wheedled, and he pointedly drew a finger across his lips as though pulling an invisible zipper and waited eagerly for Rose to produce her spell. 

She pulled her wand from her pocket—her brand new, rowan wand, twelve inches long, with a core of unicorn hair—and cleared her throat. 

Enunciating as clearly as she could, she said _“Wingardium leviosa!”_ and with a swish and a flick of the rowan wand, Noa’s Quibbler Levitated up out of her hands and floated lazily about the compartment until Noa hopped up from her seat and grabbed it out of the air, tucking it under her arm to applaud along with the others.

Rose’s heart leapt. It wasn’t the first time she’d ever done magic—Albus, at least, knew that, but it was the first spell she’d done in front of strangers, and she was so pleased that she had brought it off well. 

“Well done, Rosie, well done,” Freddy said, clapping her on the shoulder, “and I hope I can trust you not to tell the other prefects about my momentary lapse in giving a single fig about the rules.”

She grinned up at him. 

“That didn’t look so hard,” Albus said, drawing their attention back onto himself, and he took his own wand from his pocket and tried to repeat the same spell Rose had performed. This time, Noa’s Quibbler gave a feeble little wiggle, but stayed firmly planted under her arm. Rose tried not to gloat.

“It’s only because she’s holding on to it tighter,” he muttered, going a little pink. 

“Here,” Noa said earnestly, pulling the newspaper out from under her arm and holding it lightly in both hands, palms up. “Try again.”

But Albus was saved from any further attempts by an announcement that suddenly filled the compartment with a loud, low voice that spoke in a heavy Glaswegian accent. 

“We will shortly be arriving at Hogsmeade station. Any students who have not yet changed into their Hogwarts robes should do so at this time. Please ensure that cats, rats, owls, and other familiars have been located and confined to their cages before leaving the train.”

Roxanne and Freddy hurried off back to their own compartments with the energy of bounding rabbits, and the four first years scrambled to clean up their lunch mess, brush the crumbs from their robes, and put away the things they’d taken out during the journey. Rose stared out the window as the train slowed. The scenery had become wilder throughout their journey, and now a red sun was setting across a wide moor punctuated with low peaks and jagged rocks. Soon, higher mountains rose up and they entered a tunnel, and she knew there would be nothing more to see until the train emerged at Hogsmeade station. 

As the train chugged slower and slower, clearly going uphill now at quite a steep angle, James turned up in the doorway of the carriage.

“Did you hear, Al?” he said, his voice full of concern, “The boats all sank in a rainstorm last week, so the first years are going to have to ride thestrals up to the castle this year.” 

“What? Really?” Albus said, his voice going higher. Rose knew that Albus was terrified of Thestrals, despite the fact that Uncle Harry had told them over and over that they were invisible, friendly, and nothing to be afraid of. 

James laughed. “Of course not, dear, daft brother of mine. Merlin’s pants, you’re gullible, aren’t you?” He leaned into the compartment and ruffled Albus’s hair, and then went on his way, leaving an embarrassed silence behind him. 

“It’s okay,” Rose said, “I believed him too, for a minute.”

“No, you didn’t,” he muttered, looking sour. 

“Well, no, I didn’t,” she answered, “but look on the bright side—better that it’s _not_ true, right?”

Noa and Bran agreed, and they passed the few remaining minutes in darkness trading stories about thestrals and other frightening magical beasts. 

Then, abruptly, the engines went quiet, and the train glided the last hundred meters out of the tunnel and into the snow-covered twilight of Hogsmeade station. They had arrived.


	3. Lion, Eagle, Badger, Snake

As the flood of students climbed down from the train doors, Hagrid’s familiar voice called out over the crowd, “Firs’ years, this way! Firs’ years, over here!”

Rose beamed and started toward him, and then was surprised that many of her fellow first-years were standing their ground, looking wary and even frightened. She heard mutters around her—“What _is_ that?” from one side, and “Engorgement charm gone wrong, you reckon?” from the other—and saw quite a few people whispering behind their hands, eyes turned to the enormous, shaggy figure before them. Rose knew, of course, that Hagrid’s size was down to his having a giantess mother, but that wasn’t her story to tell.

The older students peeled away, rushing off toward the carriages (Rose noticed Albus casting a nervous glance toward the place where he knew the Thestrals must be), and a strand of shivering first-years was left scattered along the platform. They bunched closer together in the cold, but still looked hesitant to move toward Hagrid with his lighted lantern held aloft and a massive dog crouched at his heel.

“Come on,” Rose said encouragingly to those standing around her. Albus joined her, then Bran and Noa, and finally the whole group was moving in Hagrid’s direction. They moved in a clump past the snow-covered cottages of Hogsmeade—her dad had told her that due to either topography or magic, it was always snowy in the village, no matter the season—and down a dark lane with evergreen trees on either side. The walk wasn’t far, but it seemed long, both because of the cold and because all of them were eagerly awaiting what lay at the end of it.

The boats, like the train, were just as she’d imagined them from her parents’ description: a little fleet of ten wooden row boats, but with no oars in sight, each one with a glowing lantern suspended from its high, curved prow. Hagrid began directing each of them to a specific boat, his usually booming voice nearly swallowed up by the vast expanse of the Black Lake. Many students were ignoring him completely, however, their eyes turned upward, awestruck by the outline of the illuminated castle against the darkening sky.

It must have a thousand windows, thought Rose, and in each one a torch or candle glowed, giving the impression that the whole building was ablaze in the twilight. Towers and turrets and dormer windows and other pieces of architecture Rose didn’t even have names for all fought for place and made it seem as though one could explore the castle forever without ever running out of new rooms or rooflines or passageways to peek into.

“Alright, you lot,” Hagrid’s gruff but smiling voice rang out through the chill air, “Don’ yeh want to see it close up? Inter the boats with yeh, sharpish!”

A flurry of movement ensued, with everyone scrambling to make sure they had their familiars, wands, book bags, and all the rest of the items that hadn’t been loaded into the carriages. In the clamor, Hagrid came striding over and clapped both Rose and Albus on the shoulders, nearly knocking them flat.

“There yeh are! Good ter see yeh, you two!” Hagrid beamed. “Come on up and ride with me, why don’ yeh?” He led them up to the foremost boat, its lantern missing because Hagrid was still holding it aloft. On the way, they passed Bran and Noa, still the only two familiar faces in the crowd of first years.

“You know him?” Bran asked.

“He’s my godfather,” Rose answered, grinning.

Bran looked shocked. “Aren’t you...you know...scared of him?”

“‘Course not!” Albus answered for her, hoisting up his robes to wade through the ankle-deep water “he’s great. You’ll see!”

They left the other two to climb into a boat with several others, and made their way into Hagrid’s own rowboat, which tipped alarmingly and dipped very deeply into the water as soon as its captain and his furry companion climbed in and arranged themselves at the prow.

“Ready, firs’ years?” Hagrid called across the water, “Right then, and, we’re off!”

At the last word, he touched the tip of his flowery pink umbrella to the surface of the water, and dark ripples spread outward, enveloping all the little fleet of boats. They began to move as one, sailing smoothly across the glassy black surface of the lake toward the gleaming castle.

Rose was cold—their school robes were not terribly thick—but she loved the feeling of the chill air on her cheeks, and she couldn’t help smiling at the gleeful feeling of being within sight of the castle at last.

“‘Spect I’ll be seein’ yeh both at the Gryffindor table ‘fore long?” Hagrid said smilingly, keeping his eyes turned to the shoreline ahead. Rose gazed up at him and saw that even more grey had crept into his shaggy black mane since the last time she’d seen him at Christmas dinner.

“That’s the plan,” Rose said, “Or else my dad says he’ll disinherit me.”

“Aw, now,” Hagrid said, turning to look down at her. He’d clearly planned on saying something comforting, but he saw her grin and met it with one of his own.

“Jus you wait,” he said, “the house elves have got the common room gleamin’ an’ the fire goin’—yeh’ve never seen a prettier sight!”

Rose suddenly felt she couldn’t stand to sit down any longer, and bounced in her seat. “Can’t the boats go any faster, Hagrid?”

“Ah, yer an impatient one, aren’ yeh? Jus like yer dad. But yeh’ve got yer mum’s smarts, I hear. And you!” He said, turning to Albus, who’d been uncharacteristically silent since they’d set off across the water. “There’s lots ‘ere who remember yer dad, and lots more who’ve grown up hearin’ about him. Yeh’ll find plenty of people as’ll want teh hear as many stories as yeh’re willing ter tell.”

Albus nodded a little solemnly.

“But don’ worry,” Hagrid added, seeming to realize he’d said something wrong, “Yeh’ll find yer own way, Albus. It’s the start of a brand new adventure, isn’ it?” His beetle black eyes twinkled, and Albus managed a smile.

With that, Hagrid turned again and guided their boat and all the others into the mouth of a vast, stone tunnel that led right into the heart of the mountain. The flickering lanterns reflected off the surface of the water, making the stone walls dance with light.

They climbed out of the boats onto the rocks and pebbles of a little underground harbor and were led up a steep and winding flight of stairs. The passageway opened onto the now moonlit grounds, and they all stumbled a little as they emerged, tipping their faces up to take in the sight of the castle as it loomed above them. Hagrid led them to the enormous oaken front doors—even _he_ looked almost small by comparison—and knocked three times with the curved handle of his umbrella.

The doors opened a crack and a wedge of torchlight fell across the shivering crowd. All of them had their eyes upturned to see who was there to welcome them into the castle, but there was no one there. Several new students began craning their necks to look around those in front of them, but Rose thought she knew who it must be.

“Ah, Professor Flitwick, good evenin’ to yeh,” he said, touching his broad fingers to his forehead where a hat brim might have been, “I’ve got yer firs’ years righ’ here, sir.”

“Thank you, Hagrid my dear!” said a squeaky little voice from somewhere around Hagrid’s knees. “Welcome, welcome! Right this way!”

As Rose couldn’t see the tiny Professor Flitwick at all, she had to trust that the students ahead of her were leading her in the right direction.

The line stopped abruptly and the squeaky voice sounded once more from up ahead: “Leave your familiars here in their cages and carriers—they are, unfortunately, not permitted to join us in the Great Hall, but rest assured that they will be collected and taken to await you in your dormitories before the end of the sorting ceremony.”

Rose put Ganymede down next to Albus’s still nameless ferret and put her finger through the brass bars to stroke his tawny feathers. He dipped his head and nuzzled the side of her finger. “Bye, Gan,” she whispered, “See you up in the tower soon.”

Leaving their familiars behind, they climbed a broad flight of shallow marble stairs, passed a very grand looking set of carved oak doors, and turned right, coming at last into a plain little chamber with no decoration but a rather ancient looking tapestry hanging on one wall, and two doorways opposite each other: the one through which they had just come, and another one, covered by a velvet curtain of deep purple, through which Rose knew they would exit into the Great Hall. They could already hear a low din from behind the curtain, so the other students must already have taken their seats.

There was a flash of warm light and a few gasps from the front of the room, and the crowd stumbled backwards by a few steps as Professor Flitwick conjured himself a tall stool and scrambled atop it to address them.

“Now now,” he squeaked, “It’s lovely to see you all. My name is Filius Flitwick. I will be your Charms Professor here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and being now in my eighty-seventh year in that noble office, it is my honor to welcome you to your very first year in the castle.

“Have no fear, we will begin the start of term feast very soon, but first you will be sorted into your houses.

“The four houses of Hogwarts are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Gryffindor, and your house will be very like your family during your seven years at Hogwarts. You will attend classes with your house, eat with them at your house table, sleep beside them in your house dormitory, and cheer alongside them for the players of your house quidditch team. As the head of Ravenclaw House, I look forward—with some unavoidable partiality—to welcoming those of you whom the Sorting Hat deems suited to join me there, but I urge you to remember that _each and every one_ of the four houses has its own noble history and that _no_ house is without its merits.”

“Except Slytherin,” muttered a low voice somewhere behind Rose, but it seemed that Professor Flitwick hadn’t heard, because he cleared his throat once more and went on with his speech.

“Now, in just a moment, you will be led through into the great hall to await your turn to be sorted. Sorting will take place alphabetically, and when out last student has joined their new house, we will all be free to partake in the delightful meal that has been prepared for us.

“Now,” he proclaimed in a tone that seemed to indicate that the end of the speech was near, “My predecessor in this role always urged the students to ‘wait quietly,’ but in my experience, no such admonishment is necessary. Fear and nerves tend to do the quieting for us, and it is my opinion that a little excited chatter never hurt anyone.” His eyes twinkled as a few of them giggled nervously. “Welcome again, and I wish you a quick turn under the hat, and seven years of joyful learning!”

A few of the students began to applaud as he hopped down from his stool and disappeared through the curtain, but they stopped quickly when none of the others joined in, and the small chamber lapsed into an awkward silence.

Rose hated awkward silences, and spoke up into it, her voice quavering just a little. “Are there any muggle borns here?” She asked, looking around the crowd. She was taller than most of them and could see most of the sea of forty or so faces, some looking excited, some terrified, some merely bored.

“None?” she asked again.

“Might have a bigger crop of Slytherins this year, then,” one boy said, “my dad told me there were only four last year.”

Albus tugged her sleeve. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t be shy,” Rose said, ignoring both Albus and the other boy, “I only wanted to know if you have any questions…you know, about what to expect...”

First one hand went into the air, and then slowly, tentatively, two others. The first to have raised her hand was a plump girl with olive skin, a heart-shaped face and dark hair and eyes that looked nearly black in the low light. The second was a tall Asian boy with beautiful, high cheekbones and a hairstyle that reminded Rose of something she’d once seen on a muggle movie poster, and the third was a petite black girl with smooth umber skin and red cat-eye glasses that Rose envied instantly.

She moved toward them, reaching out her hand as little conversations began all around her in the low torchlight. Albus didn’t follow her.

“I’m Rose Granger-Weasley,” she said, first to the bespectacled black girl, who was nearest. She stuck out her hand.

“Zoe,” the girl answered, her voice small, but her handshake firm, “Zoe Bertram.”

The others introduced themselves as Jeong Selby and Amy Prewett.

“Prewett?” Rose said in surprise, “Are you sure you’re muggle born? That’s one of the old pureblood names.”

“Pretty sure,” Amy answered, “but you’re not the first person to ask me that.”

“Oh, sorry,” Rose said. “I hate when people ask the same questions over and over. I usually try to be more original than that.”

“It’s alright,” Amy smiled shyly.

“Well, do any of you have any questions?” She asked, looking back and forth between them. “I imagine it must be really scary to be here for the first time and have no idea what’s going on.”

“Scary?” Jeong answered at once, “It’s brilliant! The way he made that chair appear out of thin air! I can’t wait to be sorted. I hope I’m in Ravenclaw.”

“Me too,” said Zoe.

“I’m hoping for Gryffindor,” Rose said, “Well, expecting it, really. My entire family have been in Gryffindor going back ages. Well, on my dad’s side. My mum was muggle-born, just like you.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re talking to us,” Zoe said.

“What do you mean?” Rose asked.

“There were a few boys in our compartment on the train”—Zoe made a gesture that encompassed herself and Jeong—“who were about to sit down but moved compartments when they heard we’d only found out about Hogwarts when we’d gotten our letters.”

“Ignore them,” Rose said. “That kind of thinking should have died out with the last Wizarding War, but there are still a few that hold on to the old prejudices. You’ll see, even Slytherin—”

“I’ve got a question,” Amy spoke up, interrupting her. “I heard a lot about Gryffindor and Slytherin on the train, and we just heard from Professor Flitwick about Ravenclaw, but nobody’s said anything about Hufflepuff. What’s it like?”

“Well,” Rose said, “I don’t know, really. I’ve never really thought about it. Two of my cousins are in Hufflepuff, and they’re really nice, but they live far away and they’re always visiting France, so we don’t see them much. My dad always said ‘Hufflepuff are a load of duffers,’ but my mum always smacked him when he said that, so—”

Just then they were interrupted once again by Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice. “This way, please!” he intoned, and all the students snapped back into anticipatory silence.

The curtain was pulled aside, and the first-years came face to face with an enormous room full of staring eyes. Rose barely had time to notice the floating candles or the enchanted ceiling that was now showing a clear, starry sky before she was hurried forward into a rough line against one wall of the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick stood at the head of the line and smiled encouragingly at all of them, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. The room was nearly filled with four long tables, each nearly packed full of students but with a long, conspicuous gap at one end of each bench. Perpendicular to the long house tables was the teacher’s table, in the very center of which sat Hogwarts’s venerable headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. She glanced up and down the table looking for Uncle Neville—or Professor Longbottom, as she would now have to call him—but his round face was not immediately evident among the sea of black formal robes and pointed hats.

The center of attention, to which all eyes now turned, was a raggedy, patched brown hat with a wide brim, which sat atop a low, three-legged stool on a dais mid-way between the teacher’s table and the center aisle that divided the house tables into two and two.

Rose watched eagerly, knowing what to expect, and the hat didn’t disappoint. Suddenly, a tear near the brim opened up, and the Sorting Hat began to sing:

[Song that has to rhyme so I can’t possibly write it during a word sprint…]

The whole hall burst into applause, some students whooping and shouting, others whistling, two fingers stuck between their teeth.

Professor McGonagall stood up, clinking her crystal goblet with a golden fork, and the hall fell into a reverent silence nearly at once, with the exception of one ill-timed whoop that drew a cluster of giggles at the Gryffindor table.

“Let the sorting begin!” she cried in a ringing brogue.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and called forward the first student.

“Applebee, Amalia!”

A small, mousy girl walked up to the Sorting Hat with quick little steps, plopped down on the stool and pulled the hat down over her head as though hoping its brim would shield her from the staring eyes of the crowd. Her feet didn’t reach the ground, and she kicked them nervously as she sat.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then the hat’s brim opened wide, and it cried aloud, “Hufflepuff!”

The girl scurried off to the table, pale cheeks now aflame, and was welcomed warmly by the older students sitting there.

“There,” said Rose to Amy, who was still standing beside her, “That’s the type that gets Hufflepuff.”

Amy nodded. “Right then, better be Gryffindor for me.”

Rose grinned back at her.

“Aslani, Fatima!” became the first new Gryffindor, and the red and gold-clad table on the other side of the aisle from them erupted in raucous cheers.

The next two students (“Aubrey, Idris!” and “Belby, Margaret!”) were sorted into Ravenclaw, causing Professor Flitwick to beam with glee and shake his clasped hands together in a gesture of triumph. Next came a Gryffindor, Nadine Bell, whose mother, Rose knew, had been one of her father’s teammates on the Gryffindor quidditch team.

“Bertram, Zoe!” Professor Flitwick called, and she brushed past Amy and Rose, sending a nervous, sideways glance at them through the red frames of her glasses.

She sat down on the stool with a calm elegance that Rose wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to match, and placed the Sorting Hat atop her head as though it were a crown.

“Ravenclaw!” the hat shouted almost the moment it had touched her head.

“Well, she got her wish,” Amy whispered.

“Most people do,” Rose answered, joining in the applause as she watched Zoe take her new seat. “My Uncle Harry told me that when the Hat can’t decide, it takes your choice into account.”

By then, “Bones, Daedalus!” had made his way to the dais, and he quickly became the second new Hufflepuff.

Rose looked around and tried to guess how many more students would be sorted before her, but she didn’t know enough of their last names to be able to guess.

She saw two students, a boy and a girl who she guessed might be twins despite their rather different appearances, edging together toward the front of the line, and sure enough, one of them was called up next.

“Chang, Talfryn!” Professor Flitwick called, and Rose recognized the surname of Uncle Harry’s much-maligned ex-girlfriend. Well, much-maligned by Aunt Ginny, anyway—her own mum had always said that Cho would have been a lovely girl if she hadn’t had so very many good reasons to be sad all the time. Rose wondered if these twins were her children...if so, she realized that they might have been her cousins, if things had turned out differently. It was a funny thought.

The hat had been taking its time with Talfryn Chang, but with a funny little wiggle and a great intake of breath (did hats breathe? Rose wondered) it called out, for the first time, “Slytherin!”

Talfryn Chang looked momentarily shocked, but then hoisted a fairly convincing smile onto his face and marched toward the green and silver-draped Slytherin table, which was noticeably less crowded than the other three. Rose thought the other Slytherins looked friendly enough—well, most of them at least—but despite the changes to the house in recent years she thought that she still wouldn’t be pleased to end up there. Little chance of that, luckily enough.

“Chang, Wei!” followed her brother to the Slytherin table, and they put their arms around each other for a brief squeeze that looked half-celebratory and half-condoling.

A string of three Ravenclaws followed the Chang twins: Cadmus Clearwater, Winnie Corner, and August Edgecombe, each of whom was greeted by an excited little whoop from Professor Flitwick and a flurry of back patting and handshaking from the Ravenclaws in their blue and black scarves and ties.

Next up was a name Rose finally recognized: “Finnegan, Bran!” Bran ran up smiling a broad, goofy smile that put deep dimples into both his cheeks and pulled the hat down over his eyes.

“Gryffindor!” it said, almost at once, and Rose whooped and clapped louder than ever. They were in the Fs now, so it must be nearly her turn. She was glad to think she’d be sitting next to someone she already knew, even if she’d liked Noa a little better than Bran from their brief acquaintance on the train.

“Goldstein, Zev!” came next, joining the Ravenclaw table, and then—

“Granger-Weasley, Rose!” Professor Flitwick called. Amy grabbed her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, and then she was on her way up the long aisle, her legs carrying her without any input from her brain, which seemed to have turned momentarily to jelly.

“Yeah, Rosie!” She heard her cousin Roxanne call out from the Gryffindor table, and she thought she heard a whoop that sounded like Albus, but there was too much of whooshing in her ears to be conscious of much more.

She lifted the hat with shaky hands—it felt warm from all the heads it had sat upon already this evening— and sat down, facing the entire room.

She settled the hat down over her mane of curls, and then sat on her hands, both sets of fingers crossed beneath her.

She heard a little voice speaking to her, right in her ear, but she knew that nobody else could hear it. It barely carried over the sound of her own pounding heart, and she strained to hear its words.

“Ah yes, Miss Granger-Weasley. I sorted both your parents, I did, and your grandparents, too. A long, long line of Weasleys have sat where you’re sitting now, yes indeed. But something a little different is in order for you...yes, yes, I know just where to put you…better be...”

And in a ringing voice that carried to the whole hall, the hat yelled out a single word:

“Hufflepuff!”


End file.
